Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is a (way impulsive) Six Sentence Story.
It’s Denise’s fault as, in the course of a phone call earlier today, she said something to the effect, ‘No mistaking today for Summer’.
The prompt word:
BEAT
“But Ma, it always smells funny, the collar is scratchy and it’s supposed to be real hot the first day of school this year.”
The woman stood straighter, signaling the departure of a mood she’d consciously nurtured in order to better conform to current standards of parenting, this change hinted at an overly-developed sense of empathy with her son’s anxiety over the beginning of a new school year; not yet thirteen years old, without missing a beat, the boy fell to a time-honored strategy and muttered unintelligibly.
“Well, if your little friend ceayr decided to jump off the Clyde Arc, I suppose you’d think it was alright to follow him,” Confronting his deployment of passive-aggressive behavior made the woman’s ability to translate the language of children more valuable to her, at least at the moment, than the college degree gathering dust in a little-used desk drawer, underneath a forgotten diary.
“No, it’s just I hate the stiff feeling of a new shirt and the pins that they hide in the cuffs, I always miss one!”
The woman, relaxing into a barely-perceivable slouch, laughed, “Then as soon as we get home, you and I will take out the pins and the tissue paper together, and to get rid of the smell, I’ll run it through in the washing machine twice and you can watch while I iron out the wrinkles.”
The sound of his mother laughing like one of his friends, made the ordeal of the first day of school somehow different, if only because for the first time, he suspected she might actually know how he felt.
*